


Flames

by allonsytotumblr



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gondolin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytotumblr/pseuds/allonsytotumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idril watches Gondolin burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flames

Thanks to beta, OneSizeFitsAll.

It is not the first time Idril has seen beauty devoured by fire. That first time is perfectly clear in her memory. She was so young then, when she stood on the shore of the large, black swath of water that was the ocean, staring at the red lights of the fire as it burned away their hopes of passage.  
The night is perfectly clear in her elven memory, and yet that fire had not seemed to scorch her very soul as it does now. Of course it had worried her then, the weeping of adults, the cursing of her relative Fëanor's name, and then the freezing cold during the crossing of the hardened sea; of course Idril had not liked any of that.

But now - to watch her Gondolin burn, the pain far surpasses what she had felt so many centuries ago.

The strangling group of fleeing survivors has made it far enough from the city that danger is no longer imminent, but still the city is visible, a blot of fire on the near horizon, its smoke rising up and obscuring the stars.  
Idril has stopped walking, standing slightly to the side of the stream of refugees, allowing herself the briefest of moments to turn back towards her beloved city. Her elven sight is sharp and it is as visible as if she stood directly outside the wall.

Gondolin... There she had used to play at being back in Valinor, sometimes on a fine midsummer's day, sitting in one of the many gardens, she could make believe the sunlight was really that of Laurelin's light.

Elves, because they themselves are eternal, sometimes think that the things they make will be too. They forget that all things end, all kingdoms fall; and it it because they have let themselves forget this truth that the bitterness of the ending is greater.

Her father is in there somewhere, he has chosen death with his kingdom rather than life without.

There she spent most of her life: fallen in love, borne a child. All of it gone, disappearing, changing into smoke and ashes.  
The river of refugees flows on behind her; she knows she must turn away from the conflagration, towards the blackness that leads towards uncertainty - where will they go now? What kingdom will take them, and even if a refuge is found, will it prove safe from the attacks of the enemy?

"Idril." A voice behind her. Tuor's. "I came back to look for you; we are not so far away yet that our foes may not spread out to search the surroundings. Earendil is safe with his nurse," he adds before she can ask.

Earendil, her beloved child; the line of Fingolfin has survived the flames.  
"Where will we go?" she asks bleakly, not turning away. Not yet.

"Southward," says he, "to Nan-tathren, the land of the willows."

The words are meaningless to her; she has never heard of this land, but she trusts Tuor and at least now she has a destination; some place on which to keep her thoughts anchored on the long road the following days will bring.

There will be time for grief later, when they have reached this other place. But for now she must be strong for her people, she is now their queen, Idril realizes. They will look to her for hope, strength, and courage and she will do her best to embody all those things.

Idril turns away from the smoldering ashes of her ruined city and walks, with Tuor at her side, towards tomorrow.


End file.
